“Sure.”
Heather’s anxious laughter sets my own nerves jangling. “A little warning, he didn’t want kids, so besides my daddy going off half-cocked, that would’ve been an issue.”
Great, so we’re continuing our excursion down awkward conversation avenue. “We’ve talked about it. Works for me. I don’t want ’em either.”
Her jaw drops, as if she’s never met a woman who couldn’t wait to make babies. I shrug, not planning to explain myself or apologize. I didn’t say I think she’s batshit insane for having four kids by her age, so she can learn to be respectful of my choices too.
She blinks rapidly. “Kids are such a blessing, though.”
I count back from five before answering. “I’m sure they are. If you and your partner want them.”
More blinking blank face. What exactly is so hard for her to wrap her head around?
“So.” I force a cheery smile. Time to change the subject. “You ended up marrying another brother. How’d that happen if your dad was so against you being with a member of the club?”
Her cheeks actually flame pink and she ducks her head, her long hair covering half her face. “Well, when you elope and return knocked-up there’s not a whole lot your daddy can do about it.”
I wag a finger at her. “Ahhh, found a way around him. Smooth.”
She smiles but it doesn’t seem to reach her eyes.
“He didn’t try to shoot Acorn?” I ask. “Not even once?”
“Well, he beat the shit out of him in the parking lot the day we returned. Ink held me back from gettin’ in the middle. I had to threaten to never let my daddy see his grandbaby if he didn’t knock it off.”
“Wow.”
She shrugs. “Daddy was prez then, so he tortured Acorn with all sorts of shitty jobs for the club. Acorn took it like a man. Showed the appropriate respect. That was something Rooster could never do.”
Clearly, she never knew Rooster all that well. He shows respect—to the people who have earned it. Hopper must not have been worthy of Rooster’s respect. Sounds like Hopper’s the kind of prez who forces respect through violence and intimidation—something that wouldn’t work on Rooster.
“They get along okay these days,” Heather continues. “My dad’s retired and Acorn’s an officer, so…”
“Hard to kick his ass now?”
She slaps her hand over her mouth to hide her laughter. “Sort of.”
The front door slams open and we both whip around to see who it is. A leggy blonde, wearing a bright yellow baby doll dress that barely covers her crotch and shiny white high-heel sandals that I’d break my neck in, struts inside. She slowly pulls her sunglasses down and surveys the room.
“Hey, Caro!” one of the other girls shouts, waving wildly to the newcomer. Guess she’s a club girl. Must not have gotten the memo that the guys were out handling business.
I turn to Heather about to say that, but the words die in my throat. She’s wide-eyed and shaking.
“What’s wrong, Heather?” I reach for her, resting my hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”
It takes her a few seconds to breathe normally again and tear her gaze away from the girl in yellow. “That’s Acorn’s side piece,” she whispers. “She ain’t supposed to show her face here until after I go home.”
Come again? Individually, I know what all those words mean but I’m having trouble putting it together the way she presented it. “I’m sorry, his…?”
“Girlfriend, club bunny, mistress, whatever.” She waves her hand in a circle and her already pink cheeks turn crimson. “All the brothers have one or more. Don’t let any of them fool you into thinking otherwise.”
I blink and stare at her longer than is conversationally appropriate but I can’t come up with a response to that foolishness.
“I’m not supposed to “know,” you know?” She grimaces. “But it’s not like they’re subtle.”
Still not coming up with a polite response.
“Uh, that sucks.”
Brilliant, Shelby.
She shrugs. “It is what it is.”
Hell the fuck no.
I have a bunch of questions, but they’re all hella rude and none of my beeswax.
Don’t you worry about catching somethin’?
How long’s he been cheating?
Why would you tolerate that?
What happens when he knocks her up too?
“I hope that means you get a little side-action of your own?” I nudge her with my elbow and wiggle my eyebrows.
Yeah, that seems like the safest question given the situation.
She snorts, then laughs for several seconds. “No. That’s not how it works. At all.”
Oh, double fuck that.
“Honestly, it’s a relief some days,” she continues. “I’m busy wrangling four kids, so at least he’s not coming home expecting me to drop my panties the second he walks in the door.”
That has to be one of the most depressing things I’ve ever heard. Lordy, my momma would have a field day giving this chick advice.
“So, you’re raising his sons, keeping his home, cooking his meals, and he gets to sleep with other women?” Don’t even need my notebook. This country song writes itself.